


Death Watch Downfall

by FunFics



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Death Watch (Star Wars), Gen, Planet Mandalore (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27473545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunFics/pseuds/FunFics
Summary: AU - Hired by Dooku, Jango Fett learns of Mandalore's recent state, including the resurgence of Death Watch, led by Pre Vizsla. The galaxy's greatest bounty hunter intends on putting a stop to the group, for good.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Death Watch Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, all - I wanted to try practice writing some action/fight scenes, and so came this idea.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated!

"Ahhh..." sighed Dooku, lowering his Serenno-made chalice, the pleasing and sweet flavor of wine lingering on his lips. He let his beverage rest upon a nearby table, rather dull and devoid of anything even resembling elegance. It's a good thing the Geonosians were engaging in war, because furnishing was clearly not a market they would succeed in. Still, the Count deemed his quarters at least acceptable. The walls were untouched, uneven orange rock. It had an irritating habit of producing a dusty residue which gathered on the extravagant carpeting adorning the floor, a striking shade of red. The simplistic lighting too had been adjusted, now complimented by intricate ceiling fixtures resembling those found upon the palaces of his home planet.

Sensing his meeting only steps away, the Separatist higher-up cleared his throat. Arms resting against his lower back, he turned to the doorway - and right on queue the steel door seamlessly slid up and into the frame, and in entered Jango. He carried his helmet underarm whilst ushering Boba in with him. The boy did not seem particularly enthused to be back on the wasteland of a planet, a sentiment Dooku himself shared. Regardless, he stood quietly by his father's side, the Count extending a hand of gratitude to the clone's father.

"Jango. a pleasure as always."

"Tyranus." Fett greeted simply with a nod, returning the handshake.

"May I offer you a drink?"

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Very well. In that case, I presume you will wish to hear more of my proposed job?"

"You know me so well." the blunt bounty hunter responded. "One of quite some importance, I gather."

"Indeed... Tell me, you're Mandalorian, yes?" he questioned, a brief pause returning no answer. "Are you familiar with the current political landscape of Mandalore?"

"Enlighten me. Haven't been in some time."

Dooku turned to the table, fiddling with a small keypad as a large hologram flickered to life, illuminating the room as the lights deactivated in response. A glowing sphere, one representing the proud, neutral planet of Mandalore, practically encompassed the entire table. It rotated slowly, a handful of Galactic Basic paragraphs spawning with simple facts and statistics of the storied world.

"Since the Clone Wars began, Mandalore has been led under one 'Satine Kryze'." the Sith Lord began, a portrait of the former Duchess quickly appearing. "A passionate woman - particularly outspoken in regards to her pacifism, and its integration within Mandalorian society. Many have applauded the change, the evolution. However, just as many if not more have made their disdain very clear."

"Loyalists."

"Or officially, terrorists. My source informs me of one specific group at the head of this extremist movement." another flicker of light, static morphing into a symbol, a crest - a logo that soured Jango's expression, that tightened his hands into fists, that grit his teeth together - belonging to Clan Vizsla. "Death Watch." Dooku subtly turned to Fett, an eyebrow raised -the force was not necessary to feel the anger practically radiating off of the hired gun, a rage that had long dwelled within him, that had instilled itself into his very core from a young age. Wise beyond his years, Boba picked up on his mentor's shift in demeanor, equal parts puzzled and unnerved by the mix of hatred and consternation filling his father's eyes. "Allegedly, they plan to overthrow the Mand'alore on this very day, and within only a few hours time. The Separatists cannot negotiate a treaty of co-operation with terrorists; I want Kryze protected and unharmed. Of course, you will be compensated handsomely, in return."

"Save your credits, Tyranus." Jango uttered coldly, clutching hold of his helmet with a vice-like grip. "This is personal. I'll get it done."

"Very good. You may contact me when the matter is resolved." 

"Tyranus - I won't be needing credits, but I'd appreciate you watching over Boba whilst I do this." the bounty hunter rests an arm on his son's shoulder, guiding him towards the former Jedi. Immediately, Boba felt a pit form in his stomach; he was never brought along to jobs Jango thought too dangerous for him - and if they're too dangerous for Boba, then he knew his dad's life was very much on the line. After nearly witnessing the murder of his father in the Petranaki arena some months ago, hiding his feelings was a task he found more difficult. 

"Dad... Why can't I...?" the unaltered clone failed to even get through his sentence, his face full of dread. He knew Jango, even with his skillset and legendary reputation, remained mortal. Taking a knee, Fett knelt, pained by his son's visible distraught. His state of fragility cut through the stern resolve he often wore like a Beskar blade. He saw not only Boba, but himself; a scared little boy, life altered by a damned Vizsla's glorified thugs. He couldn't let this happen, not a second time. Not to his own flesh and blood.

"Son, it's a long story... One I should have told you already. And I will, as soon as I'm back. I promise." he rested his forehead against Boba's, briskly rustling his hand through the back of his boy's thick head of hair before rising, turning his attention once again to Dooku. The regal elder brushed his fine cape aside, baring the hilt of his eloquent weapon, attached to his belt.

"Rest assured, I will protect the boy with my life until you retrieve him - you have my word." the Count spoke with sincerity, Fett very much having earned his trust over his services. The men shared eye contact before Jango silently thanked his wealthy employer, planting his helmet on his head and promptly making his exit, the door sliding shut behind him. Boba stood silent and unmoving, his face scrunched with dismay; such a display of affection right before a job worried him to no end. He let out a deep breath, shaky at best. "Young one, I would not assign such a task to your father if I was not confident in his abilities. There's no need to worry." Palpatine's apprentice consoled, in an uncommon act of humanity, one Boba admired and genuinely needed. Now, began the uncertain wait for his father's return...

The flight to Mandalore was an uneasy one, memories long submerged within the depths of Fett's mind assaulting him as he piloted toward his destination. Weaving through the occasional asteroid field, he simply couldn't shake the traces of tragedy from his head; Death Watch, the firefight that they started, killing his parents as a result. Jaster Mareel and his tutelage, being raised by the man who's skills as a warrior were matched closely by his fatherhood, and how his blood stained the collective hands of clan Vizsla. Jango's life had been - to an extent - shaped by Death Watch - and he wasn't going to let the same thing happen to Boba. Adjusting his rangefinder, Fett tuned his trusty ship's engines via an electronic keypad, Slave 1 barreling through space as the determined father prepared himself, physically and mentally.

The Royal Palace stood tall above the the bustling city of Sundari, a place of much historical significance. The beating heart of the proud planet, every pivotal decision relating to both Mandalore and Concord Dawn's way of life and general well-being were birthed within the sacred walls. Fighting to maintain the neutrality she believed Mandalore truly needed, Duchess Kryze sat on her throne, adamant on her stance, engaged in an argument with her head of financials.

"With all due respect, ma'am, neutrality is not beneficial, now nor long-term! Be it the Republic or the Separatists, we must pick a side and provide support. Be it in the form of weaponry, star ships, we simply need to contribute!"

"And I must reiterate, I will not shape the future of our people with anarchy and bloodshed!" the emboldened politician snaps back with an intensity to her otherwise polite tone. "We've been focused on war and battle for so long that without it, what are we really? I'm sorry, but economic struggles are not of high as a concern as developing a meaningful, PEACEFUL heritage - I must put my foot down, and insist-" The door to the prestigious room is kicked open, an armored figure flanked by several followers. All equally armed with and adorned matching suits of steel plating; Death Watch had arrived. The leader of which glared through his visor, drawing a Westar 35. pistol from underneath the ornamental cloak draped over his right shoulder. Satine's council member barely gasped before a yellow bolt flew through his heart, leaving a smoldering hole in his chest as he dropped lifelessly to the small staircase before her. The outspoken lady recoiled in horror at the sudden execution, hands trembling at the atrocity.

"Duchess Kryze... You've besmirched Mandalore's good name long enough!" bellowed the governor-turned-barbarian. "All your talk of 'peaceful prosperity', of harmony across star systems? It makes me sick to my stomach."

"But cold-blooded murder does not!? Is this what our ancestry equates to for you people? Mindless violence and manslaughter?" Pre practically hissed, having to refrain himself from pulling the trigger on her there and then. Returning his blaster to the empty holster on his hip, he instead donned what appeared to be an archaic sword hilt as he drew closer to the defenseless ruler.

"Do you even hear yourself? Your pretentious prattling has stained our people, tarnished our pride, belittled our rich history beyond words... And for that?" he ignites the startling blade - an ancient Jedi artifact stolen long ago, crackling with energy and raw power as he aims toward Satine's throat. "I'd be remiss to let you live."

"Hold it!" piped up Pre's second-in-command, sister to the Duchess herself. She removed her helmet, a scowl plastered across her face. The redhead had gone along with Vizsla's plans up until this point, but a line was being crossed. "We didn't agree to an assassination! We never even discussed it!"

"Because there's nothing to discuss! It went without saying... We need to right the wrongs of this docile doormat! She's a disgrace!""

"It's stupidity!" barked Bo-Katan. "What good does disposing of her bring? We need to be smart about this-"

"It's RIGHT! IT'S JUSTICE!"

"Justice..." scoffed Fett, standing at the entrance. The room fell silent, save for the clicking of rifles; the clan's instincts kicked in as they all took aim toward the sudden intrusion. Left in awe, their gaze was met with the infamous bounty hunter. "A bold-faced lie, Vizsla."

"... Jango Fett...? Well... isn't this a surprise?" chuckled the headstrong tyrant. "The imposter returns!"

"Now that's funny - I'm more Mandalorian than you'll ever be."

"How dare you!? I am the epitome of a Mandalorian! I eat, breathe and bleed our culture! I can lead Mandalore to a better future, I-"

"If you represent the best of us, we'd be extinct ten times over." Fett scoffed. "Egotistical, selfish and reeking of cowardice - acting through fear-mongering and anarchy? You do it because if you did it like a true Mandalorian, like a half-decent man, you'd already be ten feet under." he spoke as though his words were daggers, each vowel stabbing into his gut. His hands hovered by his concealed pistols, ready to draw within an instant. Unblinking through his visor, Vizsla's gloved knuckles whitened.

"After I beat every last breath from your body? I'll be sure to cut out your tongue." the incensed leader angled his procured saber toward the floor, not breaking eye contact with Fett. "Watch Kryze. Jango is mine, NO interfering." he snarled, his subordinates - save for Bo - turned their weapons to the brave Duchess. Silence fell, and it was as though all the oxygen in the room morphed into sheer, unfiltered tension.

As though transfixed on one another, the two warriors stood still, nearly at complete opposite sides of the chamber. Silence fell as both took a step forward... Before flashes of red and yellow filled the room. Jango was the quicker draw, but Pre's reflexes were nothing to scoff at, narrowly weaving past the dual pistol onslaught. He returned shots of his own, Fett attempting to close the distance between him and his opponent, focused applied on the sword.

A shot fired, the bolt found its mark in Vizsla's armor-weave cloak, a hole burning through the fabric. The self-taught swordsman retaliated, taking a swing for Jango's neck; Dooku's associate escaping a beheading once again, altered his stance and raised his other arm with his trigger finger at the ready. Anticipated, Vizsla gives a firm swing, slicing the customised blaster in half, attempting to finish the fight swiftly with a follow-up thrust to Jango's gut. Shifting his body weight however, Fett avoided the fatal jab, instead trapping Pre's wrist between his own arm and abdomen - a firm headbutt sending the foe staggering backward as the discarded hilt clattered to the ground.

Fett aimed his remaining handgun, but his crafty adversary activated his jetpack, propelling himself forward and ramming Fett aside. The legendary hunter toppled over, dropping his pistol but quickly making it to his feet as the former governor retrieved his precious saber. Taking aim once more, the vicious Vizsla narrowed his eyes in concentration - suddenly startled as fire nearly engulfed his entire form. Fett's wrist-mounted flamethrower came close to penetrating the hardy armor, though another crafty use of the jetpack saved his skin, quite literally, as he threw himself back from the scorching stream. A cough and a gasp, Vizsla tossed his blaster, warped and worthless having taking such an intense barrage of heat up-close. The tattered shreds that was once his cloak now littered the ground.

The flow of flames sputtered into nothingness as Vizsla launched two small saw blades from his wrist - one of which cutting the hoses linking the flamethrower to Fett's jetpack. The other, pierced his purple undersuit and stuck into his bicep. Doing what he could to ignore the wound, Jango threw himself from a thermal detonator tossed his way. Glassy shrapnel flew from the floor in the resulting explosion as Death Watch stood stoic.

The heated combatants charged one another - both seamlessly avoiding gunfire from the other - before locking horns. A forearm to Pre's sternum elicited a grunt, a nasty uppercut to Fett's jaw getting the same result. An intended slash across the gut from the Darksaber was avoided, Fett giving a stern kick to the stomach of his target. Not letting the legwork disorient him, he extended an arm, spewing a horizontal gush of fire that Jango ducked.

As if in-sync, both quickly activated their thrusters, launching themselves into the air on a collision course. An overhead swing of the Darksaber was thwarted, Vizsla instead on the receiving end of a jump kick to the ribs, sending him unceremoniously crashing to the ground. His jetpack takes the brunt of the impact, creaking and beeping with error notifications as the fall severely damaged the piece of tech. Landing only a few feet away, Jango prepared to finish things - but Vizsla made the best of a bad situation. Only briefly struggling onto his front, he pressed a button located on his wrist, the back-mounted device rocketing off of his body and careening towards Fett. In a combination of luck and agility, he side-stepped the unmanned backpack as it instead smashed through a window behind him, aimlessly soaring off into the cityscape. Almost immediately turning to face his wily enemy, he locked ayes with Vizsla, bolting towards him.

"YAAAAGH!" he roared, pressing Jango up against a wall; the merciless blade, one that had bathed in the blood of many Jedi, was mere inches from his helmeted head. The pair wrestled over the sword in a tough test of strength. Vizsla's crew held their breath, the intensity of the scenario washing over the lot of them.

Redirecting Pre's momentum, Jango tugged at the sword and redirected it, the saber stuck to the wall next to his head. An unexpected tactic, Jango took advantage of Vizsla's shock by giving a jab to his throat. Clutching at his windpipe, Fett grabbed hold of Vizsla's head, ramming him face-first into the suspended handle - the visor of his helmet shattered into pieces as he fell to his hands and knees, seemingly injured. The brief respite in the duel rewarded Pre ultimately, using his seeming vulnerability to his advantage; throwing his ruined helmet at Fett.

Batting it aside, Jango found a cord wrapped around his neck, the length of wire tightening by the second. He struggled with the grappling hook, but using his bodyweight, Vizsla managed to reel Fett in closer, using his feet to flip him over and onto his back. The desperate Mandalorian climbed to a knee, behind Jango, and continued strangling to the best of his abilities. The relentless wire would seep through his throat, or he'd suffocate on the spot. Pre wasn't picky - he would welcome either outcome eagerly. But the galaxy's greatest bounty hunter refused to let his legacy end like this - sharp blades protruded from his right gauntlet, the grappling line slit in two - and a surprised Vizsla's nose spewed a red mist as Fett flung the back of his fist into it.

Stuporing in a bloody daze, the Death Watch leader threw a weak punch, parried easily and instead eating a knee to the gut. An elbow followed to the side of his temple, topped off with crafty legwork as Jango tripped him onto his back, swiftly mounting the floored warrior - any semblance of elegance, skill, it went out the window as Fett began reigning down upon him with his knuckles. Punch after punch, bruises and welts formed in Pre's face as he was utterly beaten to a pulp, his meager attempts at escape only met with harsher blows.

Finally, Fett ceased - he stood, panting, the blood of his enemy adorning his arms. Vizsla was barely conscious at this point as his defeat began to set in. He didn't even notice Jango drawing his pistol, aiming at his head. Treads pressed down upon Pre's neck as he gagged, Jango glaring down with an ire matched by none.

"I could kill you. Frankly, I'd relish it... But I'm not letting you get off that easy."

"AGHHH!?" Vizsla roared in agony, a blaster bolt piercing through his left knee, leaving a crater of smoke. "GAAAAGH, AAAAGH!!!" he howled louder, right knee now matching his left. The pain finally proved too much as he passed out, face still ripe with misery. Turning to his followers, Fett spoke with purpose.

"Death Watch... Is no more. I don't care what any of you do, where you go, or why - Death Watch is done. If one of you, any of you, so much as say its name? I'll find you; and I promise I will take my time in killing you as slowly as I can... NOW LEAVE."

he shot at the ceiling, and quickly the group fled on command. "As for you, Highness..."

"You've come to claim a bounty on my head?"

"No. Quite the opposite... Just make sure you lock him up. For life." Jango hissed, kicking lightly at the downed Vizsla. "And you're welcome..." he hissed, now taking flight into the skies as the Duchess called for security.

Not long after, Slave 1 rumbled to life, soaring up and through the atmosphere as Fett fancied his mission complete, off to retrieve his boy. Bo-Katan watched from a rooftop below, eyeing the prototype spacecraft as it rushed off and away into the galaxy. She switched her communicator on, a holographic figure flickering to life.

"Well...?"

"My sister lives. Fett succeeded, Vizsla's been taken care of."

"Very good. I take it then you're ready to proceed?" the lavish, elderly man cocked an eyebrow, the red-headed Mandalorian clutched tightly at the hilt of the Darksaber.

"Yes... But Satine will be unharmed - I mean it."

"I assure you." Dooku grinned. "You have my word. The Separatist-Mandalore alliance shall commence, and the galaxy will forever be changed."


End file.
